The smoke at the gates of Ratatoskr hadn't even finished dispersing, yet the air was already thick with the kind of exhilaration that only comes from surviving by a hair's breadth.
Ten minutes ago, the villagers had treated Argo like a stray dog in the road—one more nuisance to be spat on and chased away. Now, with the wreckage of black-armored knights scattered across the ground and four "monstrous men and women" standing atop a mound of bodies—most of them merely knocked out, not dead—the crowd's attitude flipped so hard it was almost audible.
"Heroes! They're real heroes!""That red-haired guy is incredible—can I get your autograph? On my hoe is fine!""That lady in the… very breezy outfit is terrifying! I want to—""And that smith… his eyes are scary, like he eats kids!"
Argo, of course, basked in it. He climbed onto a wooden crate—one Shirou had hastily patched up—and struck a pose so flamboyant it bordered on criminal. His crackling lightning-wood sword popped and spat sparks at his hip.
"See?! Now you understand the greatness of Argo!" he shouted, chin high. "I am the man destined to save the world! And these…" He swept his arm grandly toward his teammates—each of whom looked like they could kill someone by accident. "These are my followers, conquered by my royal aura!"
"…By the smell of food," Shirou muttered.
Ona slung her axe—bigger than she was—over one shoulder and elbowed Shirou in the ribs so hard he nearly coughed up a lung.
"Hey, redhead," she said, dead serious. "Can I hit him? Just once."
"Endure it, Miss Ona," Shirou sighed, carefully wrapping a bandage around Crozzo's forearm. The smith had gotten lightly burned when a prototype magic sword overloaded. "He's an idiot, but he's the 'leader' on paper. Let him have his moment."
"Tch. Annoying." Ona pouted, but she did lower her axe.
Because dinner was still in Shirou's hands.
Crozzo stared at the shattered remains of his test blade, not with despair, but with feverish light in his eyes.
"That feeling just now…" he murmured. "I caught it. The path mana takes through metal—the instant it 'bursts'… I think I finally understand what you meant by guiding it."
"If you got it, that's what matters." Shirou smiled, genuinely pleased. The craftsmen of this era might lack refined techniques, but their devotion to the craft—the "way"—was no weaker than any master smith of the future.
They were still basking in victory when—
A sharp, delicate sound cut through the air, so fine it almost blended with the wind.
Shirou's gaze snapped up.
Not killing intent. But the mana ripple…
Strong.
"Watch out!" Shirou moved instinctively, reaching to shove Argo off the crate.
He never got the chance.
A green arrow flashed in from the treeline—late yet somehow earlier than thought—and struck the wooden crate at Argo's feet.
BOOM!
The crate exploded into splinters. Argo shrieked and pitched forward, face-planting into the dirt with all the dignity of a collapsing puppet.
"WHO?!" Argo spat out soil, flailing upright. "Who dares sneak-attack the great hero?!"
A calm, cool voice came from the branches overhead—clear as spring water, heavy with exhausted resignation.
"Idiot brother."
Everyone looked up.
Perched on the limb of a tall old tree was a girl in a green cloak. Silver-white hair fell down her back; pointed ears marked her as half-elf. In her hands rested a finely made longbow. Her eyes—emerald, sharp, unamused—pinned Argo like a specimen.
"Fi… Fina?!" Argo paled. All his swagger evaporated, replaced by the visceral terror of a mouse facing a cat. "Y-you… why are you here?!"
"Why am I here?" Fina dropped from the branch and landed without a sound. She marched straight up, seized Argo by the ear, and twisted.
"OW OW OW! It's gonna come off! My ear—!"
"If I didn't come, you'd be dead in a ditch somewhere," she snapped. "You picked a fight with the Black King's troops? Are you tired of living?"
"But we won!" Argo pointed at the scattered knights. "Look! I beat them all down!"
"Was it you?" Fina released him and looked past Argo at the others. Her gaze paused briefly on Ona and Crozzo, then settled on Shirou.
And in that instant, Shirou felt the weight of her scrutiny.
That look was too familiar—uncannily like Ryuu Lion's in the distant future: calm, assessing, razor-sharp.
"Red hair… twin blades…" Fina murmured. "Your mana flow is… strange. Not like people from this era."
Another one with unfair instincts, Shirou thought. Elven bloodlines truly were cheating.
He stepped forward and offered a polished "diplomatic" smile.
"Nice to meet you, miss. I'm Emiya Shirou. A passing… cook and blacksmith."
"A cook?" Fina arched a brow. "A cook who uses bizarre magic and beats black-armored knights? Are the standards for cooks that high now?"
"Hard times," Shirou said lightly. "Picked up a few self-defense skills."
"I'm Fina." She lowered her bow and gave him a small nod—still cool, but impeccably polite. "My idiot brother caused you trouble."
"Brother?!" Ona and Crozzo blurted at the same time. "That clown has a sister this pretty? That's a genetic anomaly!"
"She's my sworn sister!" Argo protested, rubbing his ear. "We grew up together! Childhood friends!"
"Say one more word and I'll stitch your tongue shut," Fina said without looking at him.
Argo shut his mouth so fast it practically snapped.
Fina turned back to Shirou, businesslike.
"We can't stay here. The Black King's vanguard lost, but he's nearby—at Black Iron City. If we don't leave before the main force arrives, we'll be buried."
"Black Iron City?" Shirou latched onto the term. "Is that the main pass toward the royal capital?"
"Yes." Fina pulled a sheep-hide map from her cloak. "And the princess—Ariadne—she's imprisoned in the maze beneath the capital. The Black King plans to use her in three days, on the Night of the Lunar Eclipse, as a sacrifice to… that thing."
"That thing?" Shirou's brow tightened. In a mythic age, anything referred to as "that thing" was never good news.
"The Minotaur," Fina said grimly. "Not a common monster. One of the earliest calamities the Dungeon ever birthed. They say it can't die—and it guards a gate that leads deeper into the Great Hole."
Minotaur.
Shirou exchanged a look with Argo.
For Argo, it was the legendary hurdle. For Shirou, it was the shadow of an inevitable fate—something he would have to cut through sooner or later, even across time.
"Sounds like our goals align," Shirou said, clenching his fist. "Fina, would you join us? We need a guide. And we need an archer like you."
"Join you?" Fina eyed the group: a clown, a berserker, a mad smith, and a cook who felt like a walking abyss. "This looks like a suicide squad."
But then she looked at Argo's hopeful eyes.
And at Shirou's—clear, steady, untainted by lies.
"…Fine." She sighed. "I'm not letting that idiot run off and die. But I'm warning you—if things turn into an unavoidable disaster, I'm dragging him out first."
"No objections," Shirou said easily.
"Then all hands, assemble!" Argo burst back to life, striking another ridiculous pose. "The Argonaut Hero Band welcomes its fifth member—the 'Magic Fairy' Fina! Our voyage is the stars and the sea!"
"It's a march toward death," Fina corrected flatly.
They left the settlement and headed north toward the mountains. When night fell, Shirou chose a sheltered patch of ground and called for camp.
"Food!" Ona dropped her axe, sat down, and began banging an empty bowl like a drum. "FOOD! I want meat! The kind that glows!"
"I'm starving…" Crozzo said, setting down the anvil he'd insisted on carrying. "A fight, then half a day of marching—my mana's bone-dry."
"Shirou-bro!" Argo drooled openly. "Show the miracle!"
Fina remained skeptical. As an elf-blooded half-elf, her tastes leaned light and clean; greasy human food never impressed her.
"Is it really that good?" she asked coolly. "Isn't it just field rations?"
Shirou tied on an apron. His gaze sharpened, as if switching from "fighter" to "chef" flipped an internal lever.
"Since we've got more mouths now," he said, "and to celebrate a new member… tonight, we're doing this."
From their supplies—what Argo called Shirou's "infinite warehouse"—he produced the ingredients they'd gathered: boar meat, spices, tubers similar to potatoes and carrots, and precious flour bought at the settlement.
He projected a deep iron pot, then conjured a stable, high-temperature mana flame—hotter and cleaner than common fire, controlled like a craftsman's tool.
Chop. Sauté. Simmer.
Shirou moved with calm precision, a rhythm to his hands that felt almost like swordwork.
Fina's nose twitched.
The smell was unfamiliar—spiced, rich, yet somehow comforting. Her stomach, traitor that it was, rumbled.
"…What is that?" she asked despite herself, edging closer.
Shirou stirred the golden, thickening sauce and smiled.
"This is a miracle dish—one that makes every race shake hands and stop fighting."
He ladled it over steaming white grain—close enough to rice to call it rice—and passed the plates around.
"Emiya Special: Classic Curry Rice."
"Curry…?" The word meant nothing in this era.
"Eat."
Ona ate first. A huge bite.
Her eyes went wide.
"HOT—!" she barked, then slammed her fist into the dirt like she'd just won a war. "But… yes! This taste… it's like winning a battle inside your mouth! Incredible!"
Crozzo took a bite and closed his eyes, trembling with revelation.
"This is… fusion," he whispered. "Spice and sweetness. Meat and vegetables. It's like forging different metals into a single perfect blade… This is the true 'magic sword'!"
"It's just curry," Shirou muttered.
Argo was beyond speech, devouring while making incoherent wheezing noises, tears and snot streaming down his face.
Finally, Fina lifted her spoon.
She stared at the yellow stew for a moment, pride warring with curiosity.
Then she took a small bite.
Her entire expression shattered.
Spice flared—sharp, alive—then rolled into deep warmth: meat, vegetables, thick richness that slid down her throat and spread through her body like heat in winter.
In the freezing night of the wilds, this wasn't food.
It was salvation.
"…It's… good," she managed, cheeks flushing hot. Her spoon moved again before she could stop it. "…Really good."
The camp dissolved into chaos.
"Another bowl!""Me too!""More!"
Shirou watched them eat and felt a quiet satisfaction bloom in his chest.
No matter the era. No matter the race.
Before food, all beings were equal.
After dinner, they gathered around the fire to plan.
"So we pass through Black Iron City to reach the capital?" Fina drew the terrain with a stick. "That's almost impossible. The Black King's main force is stationed there—at least a thousand heavy knights. And a mage unit."
"We can't brute force it," Shirou agreed. "We're five people. Even with Ona and Crozzo, we'll be crushed."
"Then… infiltration?" Argo suggested. "I can disguise myself as… a delivery guy?"
"With that face?" Fina said bluntly. "You'd be arrested at the gate."
Argo deflated.
Shirou stared into the fire, thinking. Then his gaze sharpened.
"We won't brute force it," he said. "And we won't sneak."
"…What?" Ona leaned in.
"Black King Eld," Shirou asked, "he's… prideful, right?"
"He calls himself a king with 'true royal capacity,'" Fina confirmed. "He likes collecting strong people—and rare treasures."
"Perfect." Shirou reached into his pack and drew out a sword.
Gold light shimmered along its ornate, almost offensively flamboyant design.
A holy-looking blade—too pretty, too perfect.
A counterfeit.
Pseudo–Caliburn, the Sword of Selection.
"We use this," Shirou said, smiling like a fox. "As a knocking gift."
"You mean… pretend to offer treasure, then take his head?" Ona's eyes lit up.
"No." Shirou shook his head. "We trade. We 'buy' a pass into the capital."
He tapped the sword's hilt with one finger.
"And if he refuses…"
The blade would become a bomb.
A pre-set Broken Phantasm. With a single thought, Shirou could force it to detonate—enough to tear apart half a castle.
Crozzo shivered. "That's… vicious. Shirou, are you sure you're a 'hero'?"
"Sometimes," Shirou said mildly, "justice needs a small amount of technique."
Argo sprang up, sword raised. "Then it's decided! Target: Black Iron City! Operation codename—The Trojan Curry Horse!"
"That name is awful," everyone said at once.
Late that night, after the others drifted off, Shirou stayed awake to keep watch.
Fina's voice came softly from above. She sat in the branches like a sentinel.
"You're still awake."
"Thinking," Shirou replied.
He looked up. "Why do you follow Argo? He's weak. And… he's an idiot."
Fina was silent for a long moment. Then she glanced at Argo—sleeping with drool at the corner of his mouth—and her expression softened.
"Because he's a fool," she said quietly.
"In an age where the smart ones hoard themselves and calculate every step… only that fool shouts 'I'll be a hero' and runs headfirst into the impossible."
"It's stupid," she admitted. "But that stupidity… is the rarest light this world has."
She looked down at Shirou.
"You're the same. You have power, yet you cook for us and play this 'hero game.' Emiya Shirou… you're an incurable fool too."
Shirou smiled faintly.
"Maybe."
He glanced at the counterfeit holy sword resting near him.
"But if you don't act like a fool sometimes… how do you ever create a miracle that even gods can't predict?"
Moonlight brushed over them. Different blood, different eras—yet something aligned in that moment.
The quiet understanding of those who protect.
"Sleep," Fina said at last. "I'll take the second watch. Tomorrow… will be hard."
"…Yeah. Goodnight."
Shirou closed his eyes—but didn't relax.
Because his Mind's Eye whispered a warning:
Somewhere in the deeper dark, a gaze lingered on their camp.
Not the Black King's.
Something older.
Something that felt like the Abyss itself.
Their myth-age journey had only just begun.
The real performance was still ahead.
....
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